


Just Another Night at Swerve's

by hellkitty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mid-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28479042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: For @CoreArde (twitter)The prompt was for a jealous!Whirl and there was also another prompt for lightly flirty!Swerve.  Tossed in Springer for some mandatory!himbo.I obviously don't even know how to write summaries anymore. ANYWAY hope you enjoy: it was fun to write!
Relationships: Rung/Whirl (Transformers), Swerve/Velocity (Transformers)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35
Collections: Secret Solenoid '20-'21





	Just Another Night at Swerve's

“Springer, over here!” Rung half stood from the booth he had taken in Swerve’s bar, gesturing enthusiastically toward the triple changer, who had ducked his head into the doorway. The larger mech paused for a moment--hesitated?--before stepping in, spreading a mile over his faceplate. 

“I guess this is the place to be,” Springer said, sliding easily into the booth across from the smaller mech. 

“Most mechs end up here at some point or another during the megacycle,” Rung said. “It’s a good place for many social things.” And, he added mentally, a good place to keep an optic on his patients. Like now. “What can I get you?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Springer said, a moment of confusion, with a note of panic, before finding an easy glib response. “It’s been a while. Is there like a menu or something?” 

Swerve had bustled over--he wasn’t likely to let the infamous last known leader of the Wreckers not get the VIP treatment. “Menu?!” He huffed. “Menus imply rote manufacture. What I do is,” he gave an airy wave, “art. Alchemy, even. Unpredictable and entropic.” 

“Yeah--” 

Rung was as befuddled as Springer. 

“Shhh, not a word. I have the perfect thing for you.” If Swerve’s grin got any bigger, he’d need to invest in extra face. 

Springer turned back to Rung. “Is he always like that?” 

“Most of the time,” Rung said. “He’s found this place to be quite a, well, vocation for him.” 

“That’s nice,” Springer said, letting his optics range over the bar--the well-stocked shelves, the sparkling bar, cozy booths. “That’s...really nice.” There was something wistful in his tone, a sort of longing. 

“People survive trauma best if they have a purpose in life. However big or small,” Rung said. Not his best segue, but Springer, well, the other mech unsettled him. Not that he thought the Wrecker was dangerous--not to him, at any rate--but he couldn’t look at the triple-changer’s blue optics without thinking of all the psych evals he’d done over the gigacycles. Springer, Roadbuster, Whirl...Impactor. He couldn’t separate Springer from how he somehow must have let them all down. He’d kept clearing them, time and again, to go back to battle. 

Springer especially. 

“Yeah,” Springer said, after too long a pause, then looking vastly relieved as Swerve returned, carrying a vial bubbling almost matrix-glow blue and two smaller glasses. “This looks...complicated.”

“Ha!” Swerve said. “Good one! It’s a triple changing drink for a triple changer. Brought some for you to share,” he added, to Rung. “Now, you see, certain energons have different specific gravities,” he said, placing the two glasses in front of the pair. “And any chump can make a layered drink.” He made a ‘Pffffl’ sound with his air brakes. “But how many can make….” he squinted, pausing for a moment while he poured the coruscating blue liquid into the two glasses, “can make an UN-layered drink?” 

The liquid swirled around in the glasses as he presented them in front of Rung and Springer, and then with a flourish, deposited a pinch of a yellow powder over each glass. 

The glasses foamed up, swirling violently enough to rock the glasses on the table surface, before the beverage separated out into colored levels...each floating about a finger’s width above the other, nothing but space between. 

“Impressive!” Rung had to resist the urge to clap his hands in surprised delight. 

“You want us to drink that,” Springer said, one corner of his mouth pulled down, dubious. 

“Want you to?” Swerve splayed a hand across his chassis. “I would be insulted if you didn’t!” 

“Guess that’s it, then,” Springer said, picking up his glass, watching the layers bounce and recoil with the movement. He raised it in a toast. “Nice knowing you,” he said, and tossed the contents of the drink down. His face twisted, a shudder running through his entire frame, and Rung could swear he heard something like rotors spinning up. 

Spring coughed, and put the glass back down. “Well, it didn’t kill me,” he reported, optics blinking fast. 

“Yet!” Swerve said, grinning. “And I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Your turn,” Springer said, after a throat-clear, gesturing to Rung with his empty glass.

****

“Stupid mech,” If Whirl sunk any lower into the booth, his footplates would stick up, giving him away. And worse, he wouldn’t be able to drink his own drink. Which, for a mech without a face, was enough of a challenge in the best of times. 

“You or someone else?” Velocity asked, looking up from her datapad. She had no idea why Whirl had plopped into the booth with her; she was just studying the latest medical protocols. Not that she minded. It made her feel like she fit in. Kind of. 

“Me--except not!” Whirl raised one claw, like a periscope, and pointed across the floor at another booth. “Springer. That mech. He’s the stupid one.” 

“The new guy?” It was really hard to go from Caminus universities, where everyone knew everyone else, to the _ Lost Light _ , with scores of mechs coming and going all the time. 

“New guy!” Whirl vented a huff. “If only. No, he’s a fraggin’ certified war hero.” The way Whirl said it sounded like an insult. Like the worst insult. 

“I-is that bad?” Thunderclash had been a war hero, right? 

Whirl’s face bell turned toward her, barely visible over the table edge. “It’s great if you’re a NERD, I guess.” 

Velocity was all too used to being called a bit of a nerd herself. Most of the time, affectionately. She hoped. “I guess I am?” 

“Not you, Vello.” Sure, everyone called her ‘Lotty’ but, well, Whirl didn’t like doing what everyone else did, apparently. And, secretly, she kind of liked it. “I’m just saying,” Whirl continued, “that ‘war criminal’ has a much cooler ring to it.” He tapped his chassis with a claw. “Got that ‘bad mech’ vibe all over me. Like grease. Fraggin’  _ dripping _ off me.” 

That...was not an appealing mental image, Velocity thought. Time for a change of topic. “So who is he?”

Whirl snorted. “Springer.” As if that said it all. It didn’t. At least not to Velocity. 

“All right. Be honest,” Whirl elbowed himself off the booth bench, leaning over the table, planting a pointy elbow on her stack of flashcards. “I don’t get it. What’s he got that I don’t got? A FACE? Sure, whatever. But lots of mechs got that. Boring!” 

Well, one thing was for sure, Whirl was not boring. “I mean,” she said, looking over at the other table, “I guess he’s got a nice one.” He was pretty hunky, she had to admit. Hunky in the big blocky way that these male mechs had, which was very, very different from the gracile and rounded chassis of Camiens. 

“Hey! Whose side are you on, here?” Whirl’s optic squinted, accusingly. 

“Yours,” Velocity said, quickly. “I mean, obviously.” She wasn’t quite sure what sides there were, here, exactly, but she’d been on the  _ Lost Light _ long enough to know that whenever within grenade distance, agree with Whirl. That was, in fact, one of the first notes First Aid had written for her orientation to medibay. Right next to how to sedate Whirl, which required a lot of stuff she didn't have on hand in the bar booth. 

“OB-viously,” Whirl nodded. “I’m just saying, everyone’s got a face. Nice or not. And as you know, he’s not the only copter here.” He thunked a thumb claw squarely against his own chassis. 

Velocity tapped on her datapad, pulling up the  _ Lost Light _ roster. It helped, when dropped in such a crowded ship, to have a list to consult. “It says here he’s got two alt modes?” Wow, that sounded impressive. 

An eloquent toss of Whirl’s head. “That’s what I meeeeeeeeean,” he said. “Mech lacks commitment! Can’t even decide on an alt!” 

“I-I don’t know what this is all about, but it looks like he knows Rung, from, well, before. Maybe they’re just...catching up?” 

“Yeah, from ‘before’,” Whirl made air claws. “Listen, Vello. That was then. This is not-then.” He jutted his optic bell at her like he’d made some profound point. When she didn’t immediately agree, he added, “Besides, I already told Rung everything about that stuff. I see him three times a deca.”

“As a patient?” 

“Yeah, if you wanna call it that. He normally only sees patients once a decacycle, though. So, like, I’m obviously special.” Whirl’s chassis puffed. 

Oh, he was definitely one of a kind, Velocity thought, and she didn’t need to read med records to know that. “Is it helping?”

“What?” Whirl had been staring at Rung, distracted. 

“The, uh, the therapy. Is it helping?” 

Whirl made a snort with his vents, his optic still fixed on the small mech across the bar. “Talking doesn’t fix scrap. But it’s fun, so I go.” 

Velocity would disagree with him about the ‘talking’ bit. It seemed to help a great number of mechs on the  _ Lost Light _ . And she knew that just talking to her friends--her real, actual friends--helped her. But still, she wasn’t going to argue with the copter. If he went because he thought it was fun, that was enough. Everyone deserved fun. Even Whirl. 

Especially Whirl, she thought, remembering how she’d had to look up ‘empurata’ in the Anatomical Lexicon--and then regretted it almost instantly. Cybertron had been a savage place, for all its claims to civilization. 

The silence got awkward--or maybe Velocity’s own awkwardness just bubbled to the surface. Whirl was staring at Rung, and she was floundering for a new topic of conversation. “Do you like him?” It seemed reasonable, what with the staring and all. 

Whirl’s face bell swung back at her with a speed that startled her, and she found herself jerking back against the cushioned back of the booth. “So what if I do? Huh?” 

“I. Er. I was...just asking?” She felt her voice get small and weak, her mouth pulled into an apologetic grimace. “He just seems likable.” And kind. And gentle. And the exact opposite of Whirl, basically. 

“You’re fraggin’ right,” Whirl said. “A little TOO likable, if you ask me.” 

That...didn’t seem to make any sense to Velocity, but before she could scrape up a question, Whirl cursed again, slapping his claws on the table, and pushing himself upright, muttering something about ‘that’s about too much of that scrap already,’ as Velocity’s notecards went flying. 

****

“I am not sure I should drink,” Rung said, staring a bit blearily at his half empty glass, where two layers still swirled and bobbled around each other. “As a general practice, that is.” He felt warm and woozily, and all the hard edges in his vision were slightly blurred. It felt nice, but a little ungrounded. But nice. Did he say nice? 

“You’re fine. You should have seen the first time Roadbuster got drunk,” Springer said. Somehow, the engex, even Swerve’s special floating drink, seemed to have no effect on him. If anything, it just made his optics a little bluer. And everything just a little warmer and fuzzier. Rung kind of wanted to start hugging things. 

In retrospect, Rung thought, that second round ‘for old times’ sake’ might have been a mistake. 

Well, this was going well, he thought. All things considered. Springer looked comfortable, relaxed, and Rung liked to think he was at least partly responsible for it. 

Rung grinned back. “I bet it took a lot of engergex?” That word came out wrong. “Engex, I meant.” The drink was clearly getting to his vocalizer’s control circuits. His supraorbital ridges slid together, puzzled. “I think I’ve maybe had enough.” More a question than a comment, really--if his vocalizer was fritzing out, he wasn’t sure what would happen with his legs. “I’m glad we had a chance to catch up,” he said, summoning some professionalism, and trying to ignore the way his words slurred. “Unprofessionally, I mean.” Wait. That wasn’t quite what he’d meant. He was always extremely professional. What he’d meant was--

“You want me to walk you home?” The hesitancy again which snapped Rung out of it. Unfamiliar ground, and Springer was once again a patient, vulnerable and awkward, but trying. Really, really trying to find his way in this new world. 

“A-HA!” Two large dark claws slammed down on the table, making the two remaining layers (well, one and a half) in Rung’s drink bounce into each other, exchanging little colored bubbles in a bright fizz. The voice was familiar to Rung. 

As they say, and as he never thought he’d say, ‘too familiar.’ 

“I see through your plan,” Whirl said, optic glaring at Springer’s broad faceplates. “You might have fooled him with your, you know, your whole face thing and two optics and too many alt modes, but you can’t. Fool. Me.” He punctuated the last three words by leaning in closer, closer, and closer, to Springer’s face. 

Springer remained unconcerned. “Yeah? What plan is that, exactly?” he said, evenly. 

Whirl glared at him for a long moment, narrowing his optic. “Don’t you play dumb with me, Springer. I’m onto you.” 

“Uh huh.” Springer nodded, folding his hands around the glass on the table, looking almost amused. 

“You think you can just come in here being all….nice,” he spat the word like it tasted bad, “and friendly and stuff that mechs are just gonna trip all over you because you’re a Wrecker? Yeah? Well guess WHO ELSE is a Wrecker? HUH?”

“You?” Springer was playing along. Rung winced, trying to hush them with a hand gesture, but then he knocked over his glass, liquid fizzing along the table. 

“Slaggin’ right, me!” Whirl straightened up. “And I was here first!” 

Mechs were staring at them, Rung thought, and part of him wanted to slide down and hide under the table, but another part of him was fascinated. Because the words made sense (he thought--at least they seemed to make sense?) but the rest of this didn’t. What was going on here?

Were they--were they fighting over him? 

“If you can’t hold it, you can’t keep it,” Springer said. “Not my fault you always wanted to rush ahead of the advance.” 

“It’s called strategy!” Whirl said. 

“It’s called ‘never having read a strategy book in your life’.” Springer countered. “Besides.” He lifted his glass toward Rung, still smiling. “We were just having a drink.”

“SUUURE you were,” Whirl’s optic narrowed. “I know your type. All big and friendly and square and doing all the fraggin’ paperwork all nice and tidy and scrap….then throwing us into some place like Garrus 9 with slaggy intel!” 

Oof, that seemed to have landed, Rung thought, watching the flicker of regret race across Springer’s face, wiping off the smile like it had been drawn on sand. “That wasn’t...that was my fault. I trusted the wrong people.”

“You trusted ANYONE,” Whirl said. “That’s your mistake. Six million years of this slag and you still actually trust anyone?” He spat the words like they were the worst insult he could imagine. 

Whoa, this was a little too intense. “You trust me, though, don’t you, Whirl?” Rung said, softly, reaching a hand to touch a claw nearly shaking with rage. 

“No. Yes. No. Look, I tell you stuff, right?” 

Suddenly Rung wasn’t sure that that was the same thing, or enough. “You do.” 

“See? Close enough.” 

“It doesn’t seem very close at all,” Rung said, sadly. Now he was beginning to doubt. Whirl had certainly told him things, but was it enough? 

“Yeah,” Springer interjected. “Trust has always been your problem in the field, too.” Gone was Springer’s hesitancy, fear. They were arguing, but it seemed like safer territory for Springer--something old and familiar. And it struck Rung that to a Wrecker, old and familiar wasn’t necessarily good. 

“This isn’t about me!” Whirl pointed a claw at Springer. “It’s about you!”

“Is it, though?” Springer leaned back, stretching his arms across the back of the booth, an open, easy, entirely unintimidated posture. He jutted his chin at Rung. “Seems to me it’s about him.” 

Whirl was not about to have this, rising up to the full length of his legs. It was, Rung thought, kind of terrifying. He knew (probably more than others) how dangerous a mech like Whirl could be, but even this surprised him. 

“Heyyyyy,” Swerve, his smile a little forced, as he elbowed his way between Whirl and the table. Behind him loomed the silent bulk of Ten. “I don’t mean to interrupt this sweet little Wrecker reunion and all, but...yeah, ya gotta go do this someplace else.” 

“We’re just talking,” Springer gave a shrug, still stretched calmly against the back of the booth. 

“Yyyyyyyyeah, I know a little too much about how Wreckers 'talk', though.” Swerve made a gesture with his hands. “I’ll just put this on a tab for you.” 

“Mine too,” Whirl said, quickly. “On Springer’s tab.” 

That seemed petty and childish, but entirely on profile for Whirl. At least, from what Rung recalled through the engex haze. And Swerve apparently agreed, nodding easily. “That’s what leaders do.” 

“Great!” Whirl said, grabbing Rung by the wrist. “Springer can pay up while we leave.” 

Rung felt a forcible jerk on his wrist, nearly yanking him out of the booth. “Uh, okay?” He tripped a few paces, before catching his stride, Whirl’s claw clamped firmly around his wrist, marching him to the door. At least Whirl had settled back in his haunches, though his vents still bristled more than usual. After they cleared the neon framed doorway, Rung risked a question. “So, uh, everything okay?”

Whirl stopped so abruptly Rung tripped again. “It is now that we’re away from that jerk.”

“Springer?” 

Whirl just snorted. “Don’t even act like you didn’t see him making optics at you.”

Springer? Rung laughed. “I think you’ve got it all wrong.” Springer was new on board, newly back from a centuries-long coma. “He’s a patient, and a bit fragile right now. That’s all.”

“That’s NOT all,” Whirl insisted. 

“It is,” Rung said, even more of the engex buzz fading from his head. “And it doesn’t matter what Springer does with his optics, anyway, because I’m not interested.” Sure, Springer did have those Matrix blue optics, but Rung had professional ethics. He could look and maybe even admire, but not anything more. Not so far, and never. The whole exercise of the evening was Springer trying to adjust to a life he hadn’t had in millions of years: socializing, talking, no war, no weapons, no violence. 

“You’re not.” 

“I’m not,” Rung repeated. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think the engex is getting a head start on giving me a headache, and I just want to go home.” 

“I can come with you?” A wheedling tone, not subtle or obvious at all. 

“No,” Rung said, gently. He paused, turning Whirl to face him. “It’s...very kind that you thought I was in trouble, and you wanted to rescue me. It really is.” It was maybe even progress. Not all the engex had faded, though, and Rung reached out to pat Whirl on the side of his facial bell. “You’re very sweet.” 

Whirl couldn’t have looked more shocked at that last sentence than if Rung had zapped him with one of those Galactic Council probes. Rung took the opportunity to separate his hand from Whirl’s grip, pat the claw gently, and make his escape, while Whirl muttered to himself, almost surprised, one claw against where Rung had touched him “Me? Sweet?” 

****

“Thanks for the heads up,” Swerve said, plopping a drink down next to Velocity. “That could have gone either ugly or stupid. Or both.” Probably both, knowing Springer and Whirl. It was a miracle that the whole thing had dissolved that painlessly. Not even a single flying fist. Either Wreckers were losing their edge, or Swerve was a genius at de-escalation. 

He was gonna go with the latter. 

Velocity shrugged off the thanks, focusing instead on the colorful drink. “And what is this confection?” 

“I call it the ‘teal lady’,” Swerve said. “New drink. Give it a taste and let me know what you think.” 

The color didn’t escape her--the same shade as her armor. She took a sip, cautiously (she’d seen some of Swerve’s creations before), her optics widening in surprise. It was sweet and strong, without being harsh, warming the spark. “Oh,” she said, “Ohhhhh that’s dangerous.” It tasted so nice you could drink a lot of it, and not realize it had hit you...till you tried to stand up. Hopefully she wouldn't have to stand up any time soon. 

“The good kind of dangerous,” Swerve offered, hopefully. 

“The very good kind of dangerous,” she affirmed. Something in his gaze made her cheeks heat, warm as the engex tingling around her spark. 

Swerve leaned in close, pecking her gently on the cheek. “Kinda like you.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
